


Bumble Bees and Grocery Lists

by White_Rose_13



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Artist Dean, Dean is smart but hates English, Fluff, Happy Ending, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Nobody Dies, Professor Castiel, Slight Mention Of Sex, This is my first work please go easy on me!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2016-03-24
Packaged: 2018-05-28 19:54:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6343045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/White_Rose_13/pseuds/White_Rose_13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Soulmate AU where everything you write on you body appears on your soulmate.<br/>Dean has a habit of doodling on himself.<br/>Cas has a habit of leaving himself reminders. </p><p>Based off a prompt found on Tumblr</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bumble Bees and Grocery Lists

**Author's Note:**

> Hello Lovelies,
> 
> Thank you for reading this, I hope you enjoy! Also, this is my first work posted on this site, so please go easy on me:) Open to any comments or suggestions!

The first time it happens Dean is 10 and he barely notices the slight tingle on his left hand. He’s in the middle of the most boring English class ever. Dean has never been interested in writing a letter to his Senator, and he probably never will be. He scratched subconsciously at his hand and tried to pay attention to Mrs. James, but eventually the tingling sensation draws his attention. (It’s not like Mrs. James was giving a stimulating lecture anyways). Dean doesn’t quite manage to stifle the gasp that escaped his lips when he see it.

            There, right below the scar he got last summer when he burnt his hand fixing Sammy a grilled cheese sandwich, were the words

math: due thurs.

written in black ink in a slanted, sloppy scrawl. Dean glanced around to see if anyone had noticed his distraction. Everyone in the class was staring glassy eyed at Mrs. James. Dean was pretty sure Ash was drooling.

            Dean wasn’t the first person in his class to find their body covered in notes or doodles. Hell, just last week a girl, Jo-something or other, came to class distraught about the crude drawing of a penis that had appeared on her forehead overnight. Factually, Dean know that the words hastily written across his hand had been originally written by his soulmate, and that the words wouldn’t come off until his soulmate washed them off or they wore off on their own. That didn’t stop Dean from licking his thumb and rubbing at the words; they didn’t budge.

            Dean handled it pretty well considering the temper he had. He accepted the teasing of his friends as well as a few disappointed looks from the girls in his class. Dean knew he had no reason or worry at home, John wouldn’t be there of course, he never was. But that night as Dean heated a pot of left over chili on the stove Sam noticed his hand.

“Dean what’s on your hand?”

***

            Castiel Novak was 12 when he first felt it. A tingling sensation drew his attention to the bit of skin between his thumb and his first finger. There, stroke by stroke, Castiel watched as a small bumble bee appeared in a dark blue ink. Castiel stared transfixed at the bee for so long that he didn’t hear the bell ring signaling the end of the day.

When Castiel’s brother attempted to pull him out of thoughts by poking him in the side, Castiel was so surprised that he almost fell out of his seat. Once Gabriel was able to stop laughing Castiel showed him the bee.

***

            16 year old Dean Winchester would never admit how excited he got when the tingling started. Each time a new note appears it’s like the first all over again. Dean still remembers that first note, still remembers how he watched it each day with increasing despair as it slowly faded away. He remember how he searched each person in math class to see if anyone had a similar note. Dean had a hard time decided what to draw on his own hand. He had no need for homework remembers; he wouldn’t do the work anyways. He’s not sure what possessed him to draw a bee, but once he started there was no going back.

It turned into a game of give and take. Dean would receive some type of reminder: buy eggs, lit hw 2nite, game cancelled. Once he was pretty sure he got the answers to a test. What appeared to be the names of presidents in the order they were elected showed up on his arm, and then an hour or so later they disappeared quickly, like someone had scrubbed the words off.

            Anytime Dean received something, he would wait a few days for it to fade, and then he would draw something in return. A bee the first time, a fish the next. Sometimes, if Sammy was at a friend’s house, and John was passed out at a bar somewhere Dean would spend a good deal of time on his drawing. His favorite so far had been one that took up the whole back of his hand. He had recently invested in a pack of fine-tipped sharpie markers and he tested them out with this design. It started as a small star in the middle of his palm and then swirls of color wrapped in and around his fingers to meet in a bigger star on the back of his palm.

            Dean was putting the finishing touches on his latest hand-artwork, a sunflower with a bee resting in its petals, when the door to their two bedroom efficiency apartment slams open and John Winchester staggers in. Dean thanks God that Sammy is at a friend’s house and manages to hold his own as John yells and storms about the house. He’s able to suppress his tears as John orders him to scrub that crap off his hand before storming back out. Dean wasn’t sure why John had come home in the first place, but he breathed a sigh of relief when the apartment sunk into silence once again.

***

            The drawings are breath-taking each and every time, and Castiel wishes he could return the beautiful artwork of his soulmate with something equally as amazing, but he cannot draw, so he continues to use his hand as a notepad. His hand-writing has improved over the years, at least it is legible now.

At 18 years old and in his first semester at the local community college, Castiel is finding himself writing more and more reminders on his hand. He really should invest in a planner, but he can’t seem to convince himself to stop writing on his hands, knowing that somewhere out in the world his soulmate can see all of the things that are too important to forget.

Castiel was a little surprised when he felt the tingle that signified the arrival of a new drawing. He had just scribbled a note on his hand that morning, which usually meant he wouldn’t get a drawing for another day or two. Walking quickly to his next class, Castiel stopped dead in his tracks when he glanced at the palm of his hand and saw what was written there. Castiel’s heart dropped into his stomach when he realized that this writing hadn’t been done by his soulmate. The script was fluid and distinctly feminine. The phone number above the words “call me” made Castiel want to puke.

Of course he knew that receiving writing on your body didn’t mean you would ever actually meet your soulmate. It didn’t mean that you and your soulmate would even get along if you met. Castiel knew all of these things, but it still felt like a punch in the stomach.

Castiel had ignored Gabriel the first thousand times he had said, “Why don’t you write something useful? Like you name, or where you live.” It seemed like cheating, to make it that easy. But that night as he laid in bed staring at the phone number, Castiel decided that maybe cheating was ok. He grabbed a marker of his desk and wrote “I’m Cas” in his still slightly sloppy script, before tossing the marker down and going to sleep. The next morning when he woke up he almost forgot about the message he had written the night before. He was in the shower when he noticed it. Written in neat, block letters were the words “I’m Dean.”

***

            Dean wished Castiel would tell more about himself, after the initial name swap Dean had practically poured out everything about himself, but Cas rarely revealed things about himself. It seemed harder and harder to find time to draw artwork for Cas. Between working at Bobby’s garage to keep food on the table for him and Sammy, now in his senior year of high school (Dean swears the kid is still growing and could eat a horse), and taking night classes at the local college, 22 year old Dean was constantly busy. He didn’t have time for dating, and he certainly didn’t have time to track down his soulmate who didn’t seem interested in him.

***

Castiel wasn’t sure he would make it through his first semester as a college professor. After all the new employee paperwork, workshops, and meetings, Cas felt like he had already been teaching for a decade, and he hadn’t even made his first syllabus yet. He felt guilty for not giving details that his soulmate obviously wanted, but he had been so busy that he honestly had not had enough time to do more than short answers.

His very first class took place at 6:00p.m. on a Tuesday night. It was just a basic English class, but it was still his first, and Castiel was excited and nervous at the same time. As he gathered his materials from his office to head to class Cas noticed something new written on his hand. “First college class today, wish me luck.” Cas smiled as he walked out of the office, he wasn’t the only one who was having a first today.

***

            Dean didn’t want to take an English class. He had not liked English when he was 10, and he didn’t like it now. Dean sat as far in the back as he could get, and he slouched down in the seat, already determined to do the bare minimum needed to pass the class. Why was English needed for an Art degree anyways? Dean paid little attention as a young man with messy black hair and a mussed up trench coat came into the room and put a pile of books down by the podium.

Dean sat up straighter when he saw what the professor had written on the chalkboard. He would recognize that handwriting anywhere.

Professor Novak

When the man turned around Dean went into some sort of trance, staring at the man before him. _Beautiful._ He thought. _That man is beautiful._ Striking blue eyes were framed by a pair of black reading glasses, and Dean was pretty sure he could look into those eyes all day. Crinkles under his eyes, plump lips, and a slight smile completed the man’s face, and as Dean started to look lower he was pulled out of his trance at the sound of his name.

“Dean Winchester?” Those lips were saying his name. Dean could only stare.

“Dean Winchester? Going once…” And then Dean realized why his name was being called.

“Uh Here.” Dean said clearing his throat and raising his hand. Professor Novak acknowledged him with a nod of his head and moved on to the next name on his list. At the end of roll call a girl somewhere behind Dean raised her hand. At Professor Novak’s nod, she stood up and said,

“You didn’t call my name during roll, I’m Charlie Bradbury, I added the class late.” Once Charlie had sat back down Professor Novak dug though the mess on the podium until he found a pen. When he bent down to write his forehead creased in concentration.

Dean felt the familiar tingling and looked down at his left hand in time to see the words

\+ C. Bradbury 2 roll

Dean spent the rest of the class looking from his hand to the man standing in front of him. If there was any doubt in his mind, it was gone now.

 

***

            Three weeks later Dean had still not gotten the courage to talk to the dark-haired man that was his soul-mate. Instead he spent every class period staring at him instead of listening to the lecture. (Even coming from someone as beautiful as Castiel Novak, English was still boring.) Occasionally he would doodle on his hand; it was fun to watch Castiel’s facial expressions as he noticed the drawing appear while he wrote some notes on the board. Dean was pretty sure the notes were about some book called _The Grapes of Wrath._ What does grapes and wrath have to do with each other anyways? Dean daydreamed and doodled through the class like normal, and right before time was up Castiel passed back the first test they had taken. As soon as they got their test back, people started to leave, but when Castiel handed Dean his test he asked him to stay behind for a minute.

For a brief second Dean felt like he was in middle school again and getting called to the principal’s office. He felt that familiar pit of anxiety open up in his stomach and heard the snickers of some annoying freshman behind him. Trying to sit discreetly in his seat until the class cleared was not working for Dean. He kept his eyes glued to the textbook that he hadn’t opened once and crossed his long legs. Then he crossed them the other way. As he went to reposition a third time the sound of someone clearing their throat startled him and he looked up straight into Castiel’s eyes. Blushing (why the hell was he blushing?) Dean gathered his things and made his way to the front of the class.

When he got to the podium Castiel’s smile sent another wave a heat through Dean’s cheeks. And then all of a sudden Castiel was touching Dean’s cheek with one hand and reaching for Dean’s with the other.

“That blush is beautiful. It makes your freckles stand out.” Castiel whispered. And damn if Dean didn’t feel like a horny fifteen year old kid as he blushed yet again. Dean watched silently as Castiel raised both his hand and Dean’s, turning them until they could see a bumble bee, almost completely finished, replicated on both hands. Castiel reached out and snagged a pen off of the podium and drew a small arch to complete the bumble bee’s wing on his own hand. Both men watched as the replicated wing appeared on Dean’s skin seconds later.

***

Years later Dean was still being teased by Sam and Castiel’s brother for not having the guts to talk to Cas. Each time the conversation came up Dean would just laugh and wrap an arm around Castiel, who was never far away. Castiel however would ardently defend his husband by saying it wasn’t entirely Dean’s fault. He should have known that the Dean in is class was the same Dean he had been sharing notes and doodles with for years.


End file.
